


Heavy Lies Her Crown

by MiHnn



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:47:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MiHnn/pseuds/MiHnn
Summary: "The crown of life is neither happiness or annihilation; it is understanding." - Winifred Holtby
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 11
Kudos: 78
Collections: Jonsa Holidays 2019





	Heavy Lies Her Crown

**Author's Note:**

  * For [a_time_for_wolves](https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_time_for_wolves/gifts).

> Alternative Universe where Ned Stark is sent to the Night's Watch and where the Starks knew the ultimate secret.

When the words are said, when the ritual is complete and she is deigned as belonging to another, Sansa smiles as she bows her head humbly.

_Winter is coming_, she thinks, as her mind buries the thought that this was not what she wanted. She wanted to be Queen. Oh, how she wished to be Queen since she was a little girl. Yet, that little girl wanted to be loved; she wanted to be adored. She didn’t want to be married to a golden-haired monster. 

He has bruised her countless times, made her bleed many more, but she can withstand it all for she is steel. 

She is winter and she is wolf. 

And so she smiles, and smiles, and smiles. 

* * *

When she sees him, her breath leaves her.

His head is bowed; dark curls from a former life she cherishes, his knee on the cold marble of the Great Hall. Sansa cannot help but stare at the stranger before her. He had been a boy once, green and young, but he kneels before her as a man, a black cloak around his shoulders with mud streaked into his hair, his boots, his gloves. 

He glances at her, but she does not smile, for the monster beside her cocks his head mockingly and waits for her reaction.

“Your dear bastard brother has come, My Queen. You must be elated.” 

“The Night’s Watch needs more men, Your Grace,” the kneeling man says. His voice is gruff, older. When did he become a man? When did he look so much like father? “I only came to convey the Lord Commander’s message. As I have done so, I will leave at first light on the morrow.” His words are curt and cold. 

_He does not want to stay here_, Sansa thinks in dismay. Oh, how she wishes—

“Nonsense,” Joffrey says loudly. The word sounds like a whip and she flinches. Her half-brother meets her eyes briefly before lowering his gaze in deference. “You must stay for a few days. What kind of King would I be if I did not welcome my Queen’s family?”

Her half-brother hesitates. “You are kind, Your Grace. However—”

“It is settled.” Joffrey’s words are flippant, his tone conveying dismissal. 

She wonders if Jon Snow would be allowed to leave King’s Landing unharmed. 

* * *

She spends days watching him.

She sees the way he holds himself. He stands taller than she remembers, his manner confident, a far cry from the boy he once was. He reminds her of the walls of Winterfell; sturdy, strong and dependable, with rough hands and a long scar across his face. His eyes study her silently, his gaze falling on every flinch, every quick movement that she makes to stand further from her husband. 

Perhaps she has been alone for too long, for when they speak, it is courteous. She politely asks after her father. Jon replies quietly that he is well and conveys her father’s hope that she is happy. Sansa wonders at the choice of words before she replies that she is the happiest she has ever been while his suspicious gaze falls on her husband briefly. Joffrey laughs loudly when she says such words, a mocking sneer twisting his lips making his handsome face too ugly to look at. 

Her husband chooses to stay with her every time she meets with her half-brother, his eyes expectant, as if he is waiting for her to speak the truth. But as days passed, he grew bored, leaving her to her own devices, even letting Jon walk with her in the gardens without guards who are secretly spies. 

She knows she is being watched so she speaks little. Perhaps Jon knows the same, for his words are always pleasant but without sincerity. 

There are no treasonous words between them, just memories spoken out loud of a life she had once had, until a greedy little girl begged her mother to make her Queen. How foolish she was. How ignorant and selfish she was for her actions to ruin her father, cause the disappearance of her sister, and ensure that her life is nothing but loneliness and pain. 

But for now, she walks in silence with the only person she knows she can trust in King’s Landing. 

And, for now, that is enough. 

* * *

“Come with me.”

His words are soft, insistent, and for once, they do not lack sincerity. 

“Where?” she whispers in confusion. 

“Winterfell. Robb will protect you.”

Her first thought is one of panic. _He knows_, she thinks. _What must he think of me?_ Perhaps she should lie. Perhaps she should deny what he knows. 

“No one can protect me,” she says instead. “He won’t let me leave with you. Winterfell will face war if I go home.”

_Home._ Oh, how she misses home. 

“Sansa—”

“You don’t understand.” She stops him from saying anything further, for the way he says her name… It’s too much; it’s too sweet. “You don’t know him. You don’t know what he’s capable of.”

He leans closer, his shoulders tense, his eyes pleading. “I have stayed for as long as I can. I have to go back north within days. Come with me. I will take you safely home.”

_Home_. Must he say the word as such? Did it have to sound so warm and inviting? Did it have to sound so safe? 

For a moment, she dreams. She imagines herself back within the castle walls of her home, protected by the love of her father and brothers, with her mother brushing her hair and her sister trying to escape her lessons. But that dream falls short, for her father now serves the Night’s Watch and her sister has not been seen since the day Lord Eddard Stark nearly lost his life at the Great Sept of Baelor. 

She smiles, causing his gaze to harden. “I am happy,” she says, her words not quite soft enough to stay between them. “I wish you a safe journey, Jon. Please tell my mother and brothers that I miss them dearly.” 

She leaves him standing in the garden, frustration marring his handsome face as she flees before her heart betrays her. 

* * *

The night before her half-brother is to leave, Sansa spends the evening praying to the Seven for strength. As she leaves to retire to her chambers, he suddenly appears before her, eyes wild, placing a hand on her lips before he tosses her over his shoulder. Sansa does not scream, for she knows what would happen if he is found with the Queen at such an hour. She hits his back instead, whispering words, pleading him to let her go.

When he does let her go, it is inside his chamber as he tosses her roughly on his bed. He does not say a word as he locks his bedchamber, his hands quick as he begins to tie cloth around bread and cheese that he is to take with him on his journey.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Sansa nearly screams. “_What_ are you thinking?”

“You are coming with me,” he says, his voice cold, inviting no further argument. “I’m not leaving you here.”

She feels anger inside her at his words. His recklessness would be the death of him. “Do you really think that Joffrey will let you take me? He will have guards stop you even before you leave King’s Landing.”

“I don’t care,” Jon says impudently. He does not look at her as he continues to gather his belongings. 

“Jon… You must stop this.” She watches as he continues to ignore her, his movements tense. “He will kill you!”

Jon does not hesitate when he says, “Let him try,” with such conviction that it makes Sansa want to cry from exasperation. 

“Jon… Jon you must listen to me. _Jon!_” This is the most times she has ever called his name, the most times she has ever pleaded with him. “Jon. You can’t do this. You have no _right_ to do this. You are _not_ my brother.” 

He stops, his back tense before he looks over at her. “Aye,” he says softly. “I am not your brother. If it’s all the same to you, Your Grace, I am not leaving you here.”

She stands from the bed then, anger making her tremble. “What is your great plan? Are you going to tie me in a sack and toss me over your horse?”

He frustrates her further when he looks at her unimpressed. “If I have to, I will.”

She stares at him in fear. “You have lost your mind! You have gone mad!”

“Aye, I’m mad,” he says softly, stepping closer to her. “Mad enough to know that I am not leaving you here alone with _him_.” He pauses, his voice soft. “You should have never married him.”

She knows this. She has known this from the moment his cruelty could not be concealed, but admitting such a mistake is beneath her. She has made her choice and now she must live with the consequences. That is what a Queen must do. 

There is no arguing with the man before her, and so she turns to leave, stopping only when his hand circles her arm gently. 

“I swear that I will keep you safe,” he says, his tone pleading. “Come to Winterfell with me.”

Her laugh is soft and without humour. “You make it sound so simple.” When she tries to step away from him, his hand tightens around her. 

“I cannot leave you here.”

“You _must_.”

“I won’t.” 

She does not mean to kiss him, but her lips meet his gently and it’s too short, too brief, until his lips chase hers. These were not the innocent kisses they shared when she was but a child or the soft kisses she had once given him when he left for Castle Black. His kisses devour her, just as surely as she is devouring him. 

She does not stop him as he raises her skirts, nor does he stop her as she pulls him so he lands on top of her. 

It has been too long, she thinks, since they were once innocent. Too long since she had wanted this, needed this. _Needed him_ a voice deep inside her whispers. 

Then his lips circle her breast and she thinks of nothing but _I want, I want, I want._

* * *

Perhaps she is craven for leaving him while he slumbered, for spending the hours past in her chambers, only leaving when she receives word of his departure.

And yet she cannot help but rush towards the highest peak in the Red Keep, to look down on the lone rider as he slowly leaves the gates of King’s Landing. 

She knows what he must think of her, but she also knows that he does not understand. 

If she is to keep the peace for her family, she must stay. She is a prisoner of her own making and she must do what she always knew she must do. 

She needs to be a Queen. 

And so, as a lone tear falls down her cheek, Sansa Stark, Queen of the Andals and the Seven Kingdoms smiles, and smiles, and smiles.


End file.
